


my spine is made of iron, my heart pumps out old red paint

by abyssalSympathy



Series: ValhallaBound 'verse-merge [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Implied Character Death, Nonbinary Character, Pre-Sburb, heph misses their dad is what i'm saying, pov character is time aspect, though they don't know it yet so it's not reflected in their pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abyssalSympathy/pseuds/abyssalSympathy
Summary: Hephaestus Tempus is given a phone to fix. Working all alone, it's easy for the mind to wander.





	my spine is made of iron, my heart pumps out old red paint

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back at it again with another backstory fic lads. this one is written in third person because it was for an assignment that required it, but i still think it's fairly worthy to post.

“If you come back in about two days, I should have it done.” Heph slides the phone onto his workbench. His customer’s worried eyes follow him every step.

“Thank you,” she manages, voice barely above a whisper and barely audible even in the still air of Heph’s shop. “I’m sure this must be quite troublesome for you.” She eyes the car parts scattered around his workspace, all large machinery compared to her tiny little gadget of a flip phone.

“It’s nothing. As long as you pay me, I’ll be fine,” Heph replies in his customary manner, low and rough-edged. “Get home safe. If the Phantoms give you any trouble, come back here and I’ll get them off your back.”

She nods nervously, although confusion dances in the depths of her gaze. The young repairman figures that it’s because she doesn’t understand how he could be connected to a gang like that. Really the joke is on her, because the only reason he holds any authority over them is the debt they owe to his father. The girl slips out the door like a ghost, not even her steps audible as she vanishes into the urban sprawl.

Heph sighs and turns to his tools. May as well work while he has the idea fresh in his mind. He hasn’t worked with machinery of this caliber in quite a while, staying with his own pet project and a couple larger fixes from locals. Tugging a small box from underneath the desk, he rummages for the parts he needs. Plastic bits and chips are sifted through like shifting sands. His work is distant - even the clinking of his searching fingers seems to fade beneath the still silence in his head.

A few microchips, battery packs, and case replacements later, all the parts he needs are stacked next to the little machine. The next step, of course, is taking it apart. Not quite looking up from his mechanical charge, Heph scrabbles along the wall for a screwdriver to get the case off. His hand finds lacquered wood, closes around and lifts. It is heavier than he had expected, putting a furrow in his brow as he finally examines the decidedly un-screwdriver-like thing in his grasp.

All over again, he feels the steady hands of the man who had raised him.

“You have to be careful with these things, Heph,” his father had said. “Can’t just go bashing them in willy nilly.” Heph hadn’t understood at the time - too young and desperate to prove himself.

The mechanic wheeled the little clock around to its backside and turned the hammer to its claw end. “Fixing machines is a lot like fixing people. You have to treat them carefully and with respect. Otherwise they’re not gonna work with you.” Carefully he’d pried off the metal plate and set the hammer aside, exposing gear after perfect gear but for one that had slipped out of place. Ghosting his hand over his son’s, he had pressed Heph’s thumb against the brass until the mechanism resettled itself with a gentle click.

With a warm smile, he had passed the hammer back to his child. “Now, _carefully._ Put it back together.”

Heph stares down at the pitted iron, the weight of its well-worn wooden grip pressing into his palm. Blinking away the heat behind his eyes, he buries a hand in his hair and leans back to stare at the stuccoed ceiling. If he lets himself reminisce now, the phone will never get fixed.

Pressing the claw end into the plastic seam of the phone case, he pops the shell off in one deft motion. Fried circuits stare him in the face, broken and quiet as their owner. With one breath in and one breath out, the mechanic’s child does exactly as he was taught. It’s all the legacy he has.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just sad abt my homestuck ocs okay guys
> 
> if you liked this fic or any of them in the series, please feel free to [join our discord server!!](https://discord.gg/Mehbr5q) arcane and i would be really psyched to see you there


End file.
